


Already Calling You Baby

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, I just wanted to give them a happy moment okay, Literally all the fluff, PWP, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:36:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3978283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy helps Clarke steal a moment (or two, or three) for themselves in the midst of the chaos and stress that has now become their daily life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Already Calling You Baby

**Author's Note:**

> I got lost in the fluff while listening to Georgia Woods by Keith Urban, and this happened. I just wanted them to have this in some AU/future-ish scenario. Sigh. Title's from the song as well. Hope you enjoy :)

Increased pulse, erratic breathing, flushed skin. Overheated. Lethargic. Lightheaded.

Clarke runs through the symptoms in her head in a familiar checklist. It’s not the first time she’s done this. They’ve appeared multiple times before, for all sorts of reasons. 

But it’s only around Bellamy that they seem to exacerbate until she’s barely even certain of her own name.

Her jacket’s flung aside atop his somewhere inside the small cave. The leaves and soft grass press into her hair, her back, almost as if to say, _come here, it’s okay_. The dirt molds under her weight, creating a makeshift groove where her body lies. She wonders if she might become one with the earth right then and there. (If she does, she’s taking Bellamy with her.)

She couldn’t have imagined this peaceful state being possible just hours ago as she frantically snapped at the Grounders’ second-in-command, the woman whose sole purpose on Earth is to try every single one of her nerves until they’re frayed and she’s ready to tear out her hair. 

Yet if anyone were to ask her now, Clarke isn’t sure if she could name any of the Grounders, or even the chancellor, for that matter. 

The only thing currently on her mind is Bellamy, who is of course the source of her distracted haze. He’s kissing her in that gentle, soft way of his that somehow stokes a fire inside of her just as strongly as when he kisses her all hungry and messy. 

It’s exactly how he’s been kissing her for several long minutes - _minutes? hours? It’s impossible to know._ His deft hands slowly traverse her body, rendering her immobile. Her limbs feel loose and jelly-like, no trace of the strong muscle that she’s built up over long seasons on Earth. When his mouth finally leaves hers, it’s only to drag over her skin in a lazy exploration that sets fire to her every nerve. 

Somewhere in the haze of her thoughts, Clarke knows he’s doing this on purpose, can practically hear his voice in her head - _You’re far too tense, princess._

And still she can’t muster the words to stop him. Because she doesn’t want him to stop, not at all, and he knows it.

It’s why he brought her out here, to the small cave secluded by tall trees and lush summer greenery. He’d fed her some line about having found the plant she was looking for - _cordia parvifolia_ \- and she’d been so stressed that she’d jumped at the chance for something to go right. Had she been thinking straight, it would have tipped her off that he pronounced the scientific name so carefully and correctly instead of just grumbling about 'that leaf.' It was only after she’d stepped into the small grove, heard the sounds of camp dim in the distance as the cave walls closed around her, that she figured out his plan. 

By then it was too late. 

His mouth was already on hers, slow and coaxing and so, so warm. She’d responded without much thought, their lips molding together easily, all her senses already relaxing, welcoming the security he offered.

Now she’s lying on the ground as he moves over her like a wave. His body presses against hers, creating delicious friction in all sorts of places. Her hips roll as heat coils low in her belly, just as familiar and longing as it always is with him. They are both still fully clothed and Bellamy appears to be in no rush. Clarke knows that if she lets him, he’ll keep her here all day. 

But time - time is one thing they don’t have right now. It’s a precious commodity that they can’t afford, and the thought makes her frantic because she doesn’t want to lose any moment of this to whatever problem might arise in the next minute.

She begins to squirm under his patient ministrations, trying to urge him to a faster pace. Her fingers clamber up and down his back, slipping under his shirt to press at his spine.

“Princess.” The nickname is full of humor as it’s mumbled into her collarbone. Her neck arches despite everything. “That won’t work.”

“We can’t just stay here,” she protests feebly.

Bellamy raises molten eyes to hers. “Says who?”

“I-” She stops, realizing she doesn’t have an answer, and he smirks in response. Leaning up, he rests his elbows on either side of her head, his fingers gently brushing through her hair as he captures her mouth in a deep, lingering kiss.

“Things won’t fall apart if we aren’t there for one afternoon, Clarke. We’ve trained our seconds well.” His lips caress her cheek, her jaw, setting a blazing trail. “You deserve the break.”

Before she can protest, he raises a dark eyebrow. “Or, more accurately, I think the camp deserves a break from _us.”_

Clarke laughs softly, letting her head tip back against the grass. It _is_ true. She’s not the only one who’s been stressed out the past few days. Both she and Bellamy have been wound so tightly that everyone’s on their last nerve, both adults and kids alike. Equal amounts of snapping and grudging remarks have been traded on both sides. 

She knows her worry isn’t unfounded. Even despite the progress they’ve made, there’s always something new to tackle, a new challenge to prepare for. It’s her job to anticipate those things. It’s not in her nature to relax, though she’ll do whatever she can to allow others have a moment of peace. 

And Bellamy is no different. His mind works the same way, always a gear ahead, always anticipating. It’s part of why she loves him.

Yet in the back of her mind, she knows she’s not being entirely fair to her people. They deserve much more credit. They’ve proven time and time again that they are just as capable of taking care of themselves without her. Though - she never wants to be without them again. Maybe taking a little time to herself will prevent them from driving each other to that point.

Her body eases the moment her mind agrees to stop shifting quite so quickly.

“I suppose an hour or two wouldn’t hurt,” she finally admits.

Bellamy’s lips curve against her neck before trailing kisses up to her ear. “Or three, or four,” he whispers, all tongue and teeth.

Her sigh is agreement enough. Her hands twist into his thick hair, tugging his mouth back to hers as her legs bracket his hips, welcoming his weight atop her. He swarms her senses, strong and unyielding and safe and so very _Bellamy_ that she’s already aching. Her hips rock against his in a plea as her fingers crawl under his shirt again, tracing the muscles beneath. A low groan pulls from his throat, vibrating against her before he bites her lower lip.

“What’s the rush, princess?” 

To her satisfaction, Bellamy’s voice is slightly breathless. Clarke doesn’t answer. Her mouth is too preoccupied with his pulse point, feeling the sharp uptick throb under her lips. Her hands insistently press into his ribs before traveling to his back, nails scraping along the divots by his spine. She grins smugly when his hips buck helplessly. Bellamy moans again and grabs her hands, pressing them into the soft grass beside her head. He hovers over her, just out of reach from her wandering mouth. Her pout makes him grin. 

“No need to hurry,” he murmurs. “We’ve got all day.”

Her desire twists impatiently. “Are you going to make me wait that long?”

He just chuckles, ducking to kiss her collarbone. But when he raises his head, the line of his mouth is somber. He looks at her from under long lashes like she’s the sun after days of rain. 

“Clarke, you and I both know this doesn’t happen very often,” he says quietly. “We’re the ones who make time for everyone else, not ourselves. And that’s okay. We’re leaders. It’s what we do.” He smiles. “But right now, I’m just a boy with the girl I love, and it’s a beautiful day on Earth. And those are two things I _never_ thought I could ever say.”

Clarke’s heart twists at the tenderness on his face. The yearning inside her cools to something else, something just as passionate and loving but not as desperate. 

He gently kisses the corner of her mouth, then trails up to her cheek where a rogue tear has slipped out without her permission. Bellamy kisses that away, too, so soft and reassuring it nearly prompts more tears. When he releases her arms, Clarke uses the leverage to push him onto his back, swinging a leg over to straddle his waist. She cradles his face as she kisses him sweetly, lovingly, trying to form a reply without words. Everything inside her is raw with emotion. She pours that into her touch, ignoring the saltiness that enters their kiss soon after. 

Bellamy sits up with her in his lap, his arm wrapped around her waist while the other traces the soft skin of her back. When their mouths finally part for breath, Clarke’s hands link around his neck to keep him close. Her forehead touches his.

“I never thought I’d be here either,” she confesses quietly. “But I wouldn’t want this with anyone else by my side.”

Bellamy’s smile is like starlight. He tips his head up for another kiss. 

Vaguely, Clarke registers the steady patter of rain falling outside. The sound becomes a rush as the water begins to pour urgently, streaming over the rocks and trees. Suddenly their cave is even more of a cocoon than it already was. 

She holds Bellamy a little tighter with a happy sigh against his mouth. Their lips fit together with an easy familiarity learned over many long nights. It still makes her smile to think of how surprised she was after their first kiss, whereas Bellamy only told her she wasn't getting away with just one before reclaiming her mouth. Now she traces his jaw, his sharp cheekbones, the slope of his neck, first with her hands and then her mouth. His fingers trace lazy patterns up her back, tapping lightly along her spine before twisting into her hair and giving a soft tug.

She squeaks, high and breathy.

His chest rumbles with a laugh as he drops kisses along her shoulder, nudging aside the thin fabric of her shirt. Clarke shifts on his lap, her knees squeezing his hips. With a groan, he fits his mouth to hers again, each kiss messier than the last. His careful control is beginning to slip, and Clarke is determined to make it unravel entirely. She cants her hips again, feeling his teeth sink into her lower lip. 

“Clarke,” he murmurs pleadingly.

She draws back enough to find his darkened, unfocused eyes. “I intend to stay here all day.” Clarke punctuates the last two words with soft kisses to each corner of of his mouth. “But it had better not take _all day_ to get what I want,” she adds sternly.

A smirk tugs at his mouth even as his fingers dip below her waistband. “And what do you want, princess?” 

“You… idiot,” is what she sighs, though if she means _you idiot_ or _you, idiot_ she doesn’t know which one because Bellamy is dragging his mouth down over her breasts, shirt or no, and any grammar loses all meaning. It doesn’t really matter, what with the rain pouring as heavily as it is and drowning out her words. Clarke’s world is reduced to to sighs and gasps and the touch of Bellamy’s lips as her hands fist tightly into his hair.

Bellamy tugs at her layers, lifting up until she has to let go of him so he can remove her shirt and tank. Then his mouth is back on her skin, eager and hungry as he licks a path along her breastbone. Her body quivers in his lap, goosebumps covering her bare skin even though the air is still warm. With a flick of his wrist her bra is discarded as well, and his lips descend on a breast. She moans, ragged and low as his teeth graze the sensitive flesh, and this he does hear above the rain, if his answering bite is any indication. 

Clarke is itching to return the favor, to explore him just as fully, but to her irritation he’s still fully clothed. She says as much, feeling his mouth curve infuriatingly.

“I’ll never tire of hearing that,” Bellamy says, and oh, now she wants to wipe the smirk off his face entirely. 

With a renewed eagerness, she yanks his shirt off, her lips tracing the well-defined ridges and slopes of his shoulders that she already knows so well. Bellamy’s breath is warm and shaky against her ear when he exhales. She shoves him back, back, until he’s on the cave floor with her curled over him like a question mark. Bellamy trembles as her tongue licks a path down his torso. 

“I’ll never tire of _this,_ ” she says, grinning at the twitch of muscles under her mouth.

She manages to ease off his trousers and boxers all at once, her hands immediately closing around the hard length that juts against his stomach. 

“Jesus, Clarke,” Bellamy twists and stutters, a hand weaving into her hair. His hips thrust up of their own accord, and Clarke leans up to swallow his moan with a kiss. Her fingers stay wrapped around him, pumping in time to his ragged breaths, until he wrenches his mouth from hers.

“Keep that up and this’ll be over before it even begins,” he says tightly. Clarke lets him pull her hands away, but not before she rubs her own jean-clad hips over him. She busies herself with kisses along the groove of his neck and shoulder before she feels his weight shift, and suddenly he’s gripping her hips and turning her to lie on her back. His weight presses down on her, solid and firm. The leaves and dirt are a cool comfort against her bare skin as Bellamy kisses her. 

But suddenly she’s left cold and wanting as he pulls away with a strangled, “wait,” and through slitted eyes she sees Bellamy opening the pack he dropped on the ground earlier. His muscles shift and flex, and she presses her legs together. Then he pulls out an old rough blanket, spreading it over the grass and gently moving her atop it.

“I’d rather not have a repeat of last time,” Bellamy says, and Clarke begins to giggle. She remembers that all too well, when they’d had dirt and all manner of things stuck basically everywhere and spent many days after attempting to get rid of it. It’s hard to be stern, much less intimidating, when there’s gravel and god knows what else inside your pants.

She sighs as he settles over her. “You came prepared,” she teases. 

Bellamy grins. “That turn you on?”

Her laugh is covered with a searing kiss, but when she reaches out to pull him close he ducks down her body instead. “My turn,” he breathes, and the gravelly tone of his voice sends heat furling through her thighs. She tilts her hips up to help him remove the last of her clothing. 

The rain picks up, the steady downpour drowning out the unintelligible sounds that leave her mouth as Bellamy’s fingers find her slick heat. Bellamy groans against her hip even though he’s used to it by now. _So, so wet. Tell me it’s for me,_ he’d demanded the first few times, until she’d kneed him in the ribs and swore up and down that it was and would continue to be for him as long as he stopped asking stupid questions like that. 

Clarke’s eyes are squeezed shut, her head tipped back against the scratchy blanket, so she doesn’t see Bellamy lower his mouth to join his fingers. When his tongue flattens against her folds, she arches up with a high keen, her thighs closing around his head. He urges them open again, presses gentle kisses to the trembling skin until Clarke’s hands slide into his hair and drag him back to where his fingers haven’t stopped working for a moment. Bellamy laps greedily at her, his tongue swiping in long, steady strokes. 

"Bellamy, _god-"_ She’s quivering, every nerve ending firing triple time under his touch. Blindly, she reaches out until she finds his hand, and hangs on. Her body stretches until she feels like she might snap, and then his fingers curl, his mouth closing around her clit without mercy, and she cries out, her limbs locking up as she peaks. 

Bellamy’s pressing chaste kisses to her skin when she finally forces her eyes open. Slowly, he makes his way back up to her mouth as she trembles, small waves coursing through her like aftershocks. Clarke wraps shaking arms around his neck and they kiss and kiss and kiss some more until she wonders who’s breathing for who. His fingers sweep lightly up and down her side, careful and tender.

“I thought the cave might be a good idea,” he murmurs, grinning faintly. At her look, he adds, “Better than scarring the kids for life again.”

She blushes and swats at his shoulder half-heartedly, but she’s laughing with him. “Not my fault they didn't heed my warning. _Don’t follow me_ isn’t a very hard code to crack. Especially seeing as I was in _your_ tent.”

He hums, his lips latching to the spot under jaw that always results in a helpless mewl escaping her throat. This time is no different, and when Bellamy lifts his head his grin is all too cocky. “I love it when you don’t have to be quiet.” She's warm all over, because she loves it too, and he's well aware of it.

Outside, the downpour slows to a light drizzle as Clarke begins to shift beneath him, wriggling her hips in a silent plea. Now he doesn’t argue, simply shifting until their bodies align and then she’s sighing at the familiar sensation of him slowly filling her up. Her ankles lock around his back, urging him on until he’s buried deep. Their groans mingle in the air. Bellamy’s breath comes out in harsh pants against her neck; the muscles in his arms strain with the effort of keeping still. Clarke lifts her head to kiss him deeply, plunging her tongue into his mouth in a not so subtle suggestion.

She grins when he swears against her lips, but it’s her turn to curse when he sets a torturous pace that has her seeing stars. The muscles of his back flex under her fingers with every thrust, and soon she pulls her mouth from his to let out a moan of her own. One hand cards into his messy curls, the other splaying low on his back, nails denting his skin. Bellamy moves more frantically as his name tumbles from her lips over and over. 

He takes her hand from his hair and winds their fingers together, pressing a sweet kiss to her wrist that steals her breath. Then his other hand is at her clit, and Clarke drowns in his eyes as she comes with a sharp wail. Bellamy’s shaking, his thrusts coming harder and harder until she puts her lips to his ear.

“I love you,” she whispers.

Bellamy shudders, coming with a final jerk of the hips and his teeth on her neck. Clarke can already feel the mark forming as she runs soothing fingers through his thick hair. He stays in her arms a few moments longer before rolling to his side, bringing her with him. Her head rests on his chest as their breaths evens out.

The rain is still pouring, refusing to be dismissed as just a passing shower. They watch it fall over the entrance of the cave, a shimmery curtain temporarily encasing them in a world of their own. 

“You picked a good day to escape,” she murmurs, and Bellamy kisses her forehead. 

“I wasn’t going to take credit for the rain, but if you insist…”

She laughs into his shoulder and curls a leg over his hip. They lie there listening to the downpour as he plays with her loose hair and slowly skims a hand along her side and she traces the sharp lines of his abdomen. The rain continues to drum over the land until slowly, their touches become lingering, their breathing less even, and they wrap together once more, tucked away from the world.


End file.
